


Neapolitan Writings

by LunarisXXXIII, NariaLucy96



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Immortality, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Potential spin-offs, Swearing, longevity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarisXXXIII/pseuds/LunarisXXXIII, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NariaLucy96/pseuds/NariaLucy96
Summary: One core ideatwo writerslets us see how it goes ^u^LX: Two writers go in, only one comes out. A fight to the dea-LX: Oh we're not doing that part? Whoops... *stealthily hides away weapons*
Relationships: we'll see - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Neapolitan Writings it is separate favors, yet,  
> delicious tried and true chocolate,  
> common vanilla ideal,  
> wild strawberry unsure wonder.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idea of chapter:
> 
> Murder is rare; killing someone means their remaining years are 'subtracted' from yours. Likewise, saving a life (or lives) adds time to your own. Nobody knows why. Centuries ago you killed a young man by accident (usually resulting in instant death). You haven't aged since.

(Edge, UnderFell Papyrus)

A rat squeak is heard as a grape tempted its prey. A life was lost on the surface, but with that death cry. 

Another rat scampers off across the center of the room. Thus avoiding the traps lining the safe looking slots between all the furniture. 

As a heavy leather jacket weighs on the tall skeleton's shoulders, from that same couch. 

Flipping off that light, before laying down for the evening right as the sun rays began to peek through the windows. 

He hadn't eaten in quite a while, an hour, a month, at least 3 years. Though it didn't seem to matter like it used to... 

As his skeletal hand feels the scar slashed onto his skull. There was a time life was fought for to keep. 

But that had been centuries ago, now life was let others live and you'll survive. All those he once fled from to survive were gone. 

It had never made sense, though he changed his thoughts on the human that had saved them. 

Or somewhat saved them, from the mountain that once entombed them. Minor insults become miniature wars in there.

Sides were constantly being formed and betrayed. He was one of the lucky ones that only choose one side. 

The King's side, the one of an obedient soldier. It cost an independence that required a strength earned by ending others.

So many laid to dust, crippling the desire to care. As this child of his side's sworn enemy race appeared from the sealed off ruins. 

He defeated them more times than he was willing to count. Only to be offered mercy, Always, mercy.

They didn't disappear as dust would. Haunting him as he ended their life over, and over.

Til a shred of defiant mercy, let them go. Mercy that had later boldly marched in defense of the child.

Only to end up on the other side of the barrier, disappointed. Everyone was nice...

But the fight of many of his monster race. Caused their first surface kill ending in both their deaths.

Humans, monsters, whoever was killing another would lose their life to the amount the killed had left. 

Mercy was how to live on the surface. And he, had killed the very child that put them in this new rule set.

He was the child's trusted friend, but the child was just as tired of mercy. Saving the monsters had added life they could feel.

Life everlasting? maybe, but though they were young. Pain of mysteriously lost wounds plagued their body. 

Schroching magical burns, dismembering dog bites, deeply seeded loss, were all destroying and reparing the child's soul.

As he ended them above, at their request, assuming his life forfeit. Only the live longer than the monster race entirely.

Trying to end these small ones lives to decease his own. But even going on a rampage killing spree, hadn't ended him.

No one wanted to die, so no one tried to kill him when he asked. Even after he snapped, the few, and the many who tried.

Failed to end him. His life was over as it continued onward without hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what, What? WHAT!
> 
> it sad
> 
> I know
> 
> Red, UnderFell Sans must have died somehow  
> maybe even before the surface in this
> 
> maybe even by Edge
> 
> common looking black garden ants' lifespan is 15 years  
> so under let live and live on  
> ants are immune  
> whether they are not in this universe  
> or a rare case that doesn't follow this surface's rule


	2. A Horse, A Horse! My Kingdom For A Horse!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Murder is rare; killing someone means their remaining years are 'subtracted' from yours. Likewise, saving a life (or lives) adds time to your own. Nobody knows why. Centuries ago you killed a young man by accident (usually resulting in instant death). You haven't aged since._
> 
> I know this one's pretty rough, so sorry in advance, but I couldn't click with this prompt for the life of me for some reason :( 
> 
> UnderFell AU

It had been a pretty shitty day for the Underground when Asgore announced his newest policy. He'd called it population control, everyone else had called it the beginning of hell.

The naturally weaker, more short-lived monsters were turned into cannon fodder pretty quickly, while those with natural longevity became basically untouchable. It was the tyrant's way of trying to put naturally powerful monsters on a pedestal, something about kill or be killed, survival of the fittest, blah, blah, blah. 

They all knew that, as a boss monster, Asgore was already scheduled to live for a long-ass time, which meant that while it wasn't a big deal for the fluffy bastard to kill off their guys, it certainly wouldn't turn out so well for whoever was unlucky enough to kill the tyrant.

So what were they supposed to do? Draw straws? Play rock-paper-scissors? Put some goddamned names in a hat?

Hell no. If there was even the slightest chance that Papyrus was gonna have to kill that bastard, Sans knew he would have do anything in his power to keep these morons from killing his little brother with their shitty morals.

If he was being honest, Sans hadn't cared too much when the law was first put in place. Skeletons were in a weird gray area longevity-wise that made it so most monsters avoided trying to kill them, so him and Papyrus were relatively safe so long as they didn't venture into places like Hotland or New Home where stronger, more long-lived monsters took up residence. 

For a long time Sans counted the day that Papyrus joined the resistance to be the shittiest day of his life.

They had forced his brother to kill, what with him being one of the youngest and most long-lived races that took part in the revolution and his willingness to help was used against him as they practically forced him to burn himself out as their frontline, but what did they care right? At least those bastards behind planning out this whole thing would be able to live out their whole lives happily because his brother gave up all his time for their sorry asses, right?

It made him sick how willing they were to just throw him away, but no matter what he said, he couldn't get Papyrus to quit, his younger brother too stubborn to listen to reason no matter how many times those bastards forced him to shave years off his lifespan. When the plan to kill the king started, Sans knew exactly who they would come to, asking him to _volunteer his services_ one last time, telling him how he would be _remembered_ and how _eternally grateful_ they would be if he did this for them.

Not a chance.

Papyrus had tried to stop him of course, but Sans was just as bullheaded and twice as convincing, easily wheedling his way into the position of 'King-Killer' despite his protests.

When they busted down the doors of the palace, a whole squad getting the jump on the tyrant and hitting him with a barrage of attacks before he could even register he had been hit; Sans had jumped straight into the fray, hitting the bastard with as many attacks as he could manage as he tried his damndest to prevent any stray attacks getting through and switching the shitty curse's target.

It was almost anticlimactic how fast the bastard fell under the combined might of their fighters. Ten goddamned years of planning and hiding and debating all put to rest after a couple dozen rounds of combat. Sans dealt the final blow just as planned, the smell of smoke and burning hair and flesh hanging heavy in the air of the meeting room as they watched the boss monster's soul crack and shatter apart before their eyes. The pieces shattered apart and Sans had waited for his last moments to come, eyes closed, as he prepared to accept his fate. 

He waited. 

And waited. 

And waited.

But nothing happened.

Nobody at the time had understood why he hadn't died on the spot, but after the whole castle had gotten ransacked a while and the former king's diary/murder-planning-book got found it started to make more sense. Turns out the fluffy bastard had been planning to kill off a couple elementals with poison or some shit when they came to have a meeting with him that day, so Sans had effectively saved their lives by interrupting the meeting and flash-frying the old piece of shit, which meant he'd accidentally gained a whole helluva lot of years all at once. Some people later accused him of knowing how much he would have to gain by killing the bastard, but everyone who mattered knew the real reasons and they knew a helluva lot better than to spell it out for the stupid ones.

And now, a couple hundred goddamned years later, he still showed absolutely zero signs of aging even as he watched Papyrus start taking the first steps towards becoming more like a crotchety old guy than the younger brother that he'd always been to him. The only bright side of the whole thing was that he now had plenty of years to burn, so he could annihilate anybody who tried anything to disrupt the hard-won peace with extreme prejudice, a privilege that he began taking a little too much joy in as things dragged on and he became _so, so, tired_ of everything. 

The last human took nearly a hundred years to fall and by that time it was too late for his little brother to see the Surface, too many years given away as he tried to move them towards 'something better'.

Sans would've given up the hollow victory in the case, all of his time, all the time of his brother's supposed comrades and all the time that he'd wasted on killing stupid upstarts. 

Just so that he didn't have to be standing here on the mountainside watching the sun go down and the world fall into darkness all on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticism is always appreciated since I can't grow without it!


End file.
